


Until He'd Gone

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack comes home after time away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until He'd Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little Sunday evening fluff I wrote during a long car ride home.

“It was his home now. But it could not be his home till he had gone from it and returned to it.”

G.K. Chesterton

 

He dropped his bag to the floor and locked the door behind him. After hanging up his coat and hat he crossed the room, not bothering to turn on a light until he reached the lamp by the chair. Along the way he removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. He dropped the coat on the back of the chair, and took off his waistcoat, leaving it behind too, before moving on to the bar cart and pouring two fingers of bourbon in a glass. It was good to be home, he supposed, even if this wasn’t the home he’d hope to be coming back to, at least not for more than a quick shower and change of clothes.

Flooding on the tracks had rerouted his train and then they’d had to pull to the side twice to allow for passing freight. A planned six hour trip had turned into more then ten. It was far too late to go to her now. He walked past his own chair to sit in the one she used when she was here, toeing off his shoes and running his fingers over the arm, picturing her lovely hand resting upon it. The ache was palpable and he almost imagined he could feel her presence, smell her perfume, which was ridiculous. He’d been gone two weeks and it had been even longer since she’d been here.

Two weeks. They’d not spent that long apart since she’d returned from England and he’d been shocked by how much he’d missed her. And not just her body beside him in bed at night, but her smile, and her laugh. He’d missed talking over cases with her in the parlour at night and walking with her along the esplanade. There’d been phone calls of course, but that wasn’t the same. Hearing her voice over the line and not being able to see her, or touch her had almost made him miss her more.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was half past one in the morning. He could probably go over if he really wanted to. She wouldn’t mind. She slept like the dead and he’d no doubt succeed in slipping into the bed her without waking her. But, he might disrupt the rest of the household and he didn’t even know if she’d be there. Once he was delayed, she might have gone out for the evening, in which case it wouldn’t be at all unusual for her to not yet have returned home.

He knocked back the rest of his drink and rose to go to the kitchen to rinse out the glass, shutting off the lamp as he went. The moon was full tonight and it lit the kitchen well enough that he didn’t need to turn on any more lights. He went to the back door, opening it and letting in a cool rush of air. Two weeks and hundreds of miles apart and now she was so close, but not close enough. He pushed his braces from his shoulders, letting them drop and dangle at his hips and pulled the tie from around his neck. Closing the door he padded in this stocking feet to the bath where he removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower to rinse the dust of travel from him. He let the water wash down his back, the bourbon and the warm spray working together to help him relax. By the time he shut off the tap he was feeling quite drowsy.

He grabbed a towel, briskly rubbing himself dry before wrapping it around his waist. After a quick brush of his teeth, and a run of a comb through his hair, he made his way toward his room, looking forward to settling in between his own sheets after all the nights in a strange bed. He reached for the lamp, but before he could light it, stopped to wonder why the room was so dark. The light from the full moon should’ve been shining through the window, but it appeared the shades were drawn, though he was sure he’d left them open. Then he heard it. That familiar little snuffle. The sound shot straight to his soul and set it on fire.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out the form laying curled on its side under the doona. He didn’t need to see more to imagine the rest. Her body pressed into the mattress. Her silky smooth skin, warm and soft. The raven hair, usually so perfectly coiffed, now mussed from sleep and spread out over the pillow. He forgot about digging out pajamas and let the towel drop from his hips. He pulled back the cover and crawled in beside her as gently and quietly as he could, trying not to disturb her.

“You’re late, Jack.” Her voice was groggy with sleep, but she sounded happy.

She turned toward him, stretching out her arms. He went into them gladly and let her wrap herself around him. He pressed his head to her chest, breathing her in.

“Welcome home, my love,” she sighed.


End file.
